


Campfire Stories

by The_Black_Box



Category: Showdown Bandit (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/F, One Shot, exact contents vary by story and more info can be found in the index chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:09:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22386979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Black_Box/pseuds/The_Black_Box
Summary: On a cold night in Showdown Valley, people start telling tales.(Collection of short one-shot drabbles based off of prompts I've received. Individual story premises and characters are listed in the first chapter/index.)
Relationships: Penny Hemsworth/Lorelei Undertaker
Kudos: 9





	1. Index

2\. REPAIR WORK

**Prompt:** Doc Carver helps fix one of the Banker's injuries.

**Characters:** Doc Carver, Banker

3\. SURVEILLANCE

**Prompt:** Penny hires Lookout to do some research for her.

**Characters:** Penny Hemsworth, Lookout, Miss Undertaker

_Notes: Penny/Miss Undertaker._


	2. Repair Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doc Carver helps fix one of the Banker's injuries.

“Do hold still,” Carver insists, holding the other puppet’s hand out to the light to inspect it. “ _That’s_ what you consider a life-threatening injury?”

“M-My entire finger’s gone!” the Banker insists, clutching his injured hand against his chest.

Carver only hums to himself, kneeling to look through a series of drawers. “I’ve seen fellows walk in here missing entire limbs, or crawling in on one string. One little finger tip isn’t anything to worry about.“

The first drawer reveals a series of eyes; the second needles and a spool of string. “Ah, here we go,” Carver muses, pulling open a third drawer to reveal a cluster of severed hands.

“Ah- Where did- where did you get those?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Carver plucks out a hand, inspects it for a second, then places it onto the counter. He removes a hacksaw from the wall, running his fingers along the serrated prongs.

“Y-You know, I think it’s starting to feel better already. I- I think I’ll just skip the treatment,” the Banker stutters, watching in horror as Carver begins nonchalantly sawing off the the tip of the wooden hand’s index finger.

“Nonsense. The staple gun only hurts for a second.”

“S- Staple gun?” Banker backs towards the door as Carver brushes sawdust off of the severed finger.

The Doctor tsks under his breath. “It’s not that bad. Look, I did my own face.” Carver lifts his head, revealing a row of staples running along the side of his jaw.

“You- You did that yourself?”

“Oh yes, of course. I was out collecting string when that faceless corpse attacked me with that blade of his. It took a few tries, but I’d say I did a pretty good job, don’t you agree?”

“I suppose?” the Banker squeaks, wringing his hands together. “But still, I don’t think this is-”

“Look over there,” Carver directs, nodding towards an open doorway as he take’s the other puppet’s hand.

“Huh? What’s over-?” His reply is cut off with a sudden loud noise, almost like a gunshot, and a sudden pain shoots through his hand. “Oh my God! Oh my God, oh my-”

“Relax. We’re already done here.” Carver sets the staple gun down on the counter, wiping his hands off on his apron. “Flex it, see how it feels.”

The pain in his hands was already fading. He holds up his hand, now with one finger a slightly darker color than the rest of his bare wood. He flexes his hands experimentally, the new appendage moving with the rest of his hand. “Oh. I suppose that is, uh, b-better.”

“See? I told you, not bad at all. Come back in a week so we can make sure those stitches are holding.”

“Y- Yes, of course. Thank you,” the Banker stutters, scrambling for the door. “By the way, what’s with the, uh…?” He nods towards the open doorway that Carver had used to distract him, which boasts a single unfinished puppet lying on a table, missing both its strings and its eyes. It looked a bit too much like the Banker for his comfort, but the corpse remains motionless.

“Just a little… experiment of mine.” Carver polishes his hacksaw slowly, as if intentionally avoiding looking at the other figure. “A piece of plywood isn’t alive, is it?”

“What does plywood have to do with-?”

“Answer the question.” Carver places the saw back on its mount on the wall.

“N- No, I suppose it isn’t.”

“And we are also made of wood, are we not?”

“I- I suppose so, yes.” He didn’t like the direction this conversation was going.

“Interesting, isn’t it? I would so very much like to know why a normal piece of wood isn’t alive, but we are. There has to be a reason, right?”

The Banker opens his mouth to speak, but Carver strides over, pushing him towards the door. “Go on. I’ll see you next week.”

The Banker wants to ask why the mannequin had no hands, but he’s not entirely sure he wants to know the answer.


	3. Surveillance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penny hires Lookout to do some research for her.

“Will that be all for ya, darlin’?”

The other figure nods, sliding the package of Shoogy’s over to her wordlessly. Penny had been fairly certain that she knew everyone in town before now, but she doesn’t recognize this figure. They’re pretty indiscriminate looking - a mostly blank puppet with light green eyes, wearing matching green chaps and a brown cloak. A pair of binoculars hang at their side, which Penny eyes excitedly.

“Are ya some kind of spy? Oh, or a secret agent! Ah’ve always wanted to meet a secret agent,” she gushes, leaning over the counter. The figure removes an impressive stack of bandit bucks from their pocket, removing a few bills and sliding them across the counter.

Penny looks around the shop cautiously, then leans forward further, covering the side of her mouth with her hand. “Ah don’t suppose you’re willin’ to take a job, are ya?”

The figure studies her through pale green eyes, then taps the pocket they had the cash stashed in. Penny plucks a few bills from the cash register and slides them across the counter.

“Ah’m sure you’ve met Miss Undertaker, haven’t ya? Everyone does when they first wake up.” Penny sets her head in her hands, sighing. “Isn’t she lovely? She’s so tall, and that pretty green skin of hers… Ah’ve been meanin’ to ask her out for a while, but I haven’t got the guts. After all, what would a women like that want with a little ol’ shopkeeper like me?” She slams her hands against the counter abruptly. “That’s why ah need to find out what she likes! Then I can ask her out properly, and take her someplace she’ll absolutely love. Can you follow her and see what’s what?”

The figure studies the bills for a moment before quietly pocketing both the cash and the pastries.

* * *

“Darlin’, I can see you up there,” Lorelei calls, though she knows that if they didn’t want to be seen she wouldn’t have seen them. “Come on down. I was just about to put on some tea.”

Lookout jumps down from the cardboard tree in one smooth leap, strings breaking their fall before they hit the floor. They perch lightly on a nearby crate as Undertaker wanders over to the stove, fetching a wooden teakettle.

“So, what brings you here? I’d imagine you didn’t come out of hidin’ just to chat over tea,” Undertaker muses, pretending to strike a match. A couple of fabric flames start waving over the fire pit, and the tea kettle is set over it.

Lookout pulls the bandit bucks out of his pocket, then tucks them away again as Miss Undertaker strokes her chin.

“Someone hired you to spy on me? Well, well, I can’t say I care for that much at all,” she mutters, removing the kettle as it starts to sing. She pretends to pour out the nonexistent liquid into a cup, passing it over to the other puppet.

“Penny. The one who runs the general store,” they whisper. Their voice is whispy, barely audible and completely androgynous. “It’s not bad. She wanted me to find out what kind of things you like. She’s got a soft spot for you.”

“That’s all? Darlin’, you should have said somethin’ sooner,” Undertaker laughs, but there’s a sharp edge to it, like she was relieved about something only she knew. “What was she wantin’ to know?”

“What kind of flowers do you like?”

‘Lillies are always lovely, aren’t they? Chrysanthemums are also nice this time of year.”

“Favorite color. And favorite place to go to.”

“Black, of course. And the graveyard is always a nice place to take a stroll. Provided the dead are stayin’ put, of course…”

“Favorite animal?”

Miss Undertaker takes a moment to drink nothing from her cup. “Crows. Charmin’ little birds.”

Lookout stands up, pulling their cloak back up over their head. “How would you feel about a nice walk through the graveyard tomorrow?”

* * *

“How’d it go? Tell me everythin’,” Penny gushes, running over to Lookout as they enter the store. They reach into their pants pocket, handing over a small, folded note with Penny’s name written on the front.

“You have a date tomorrow at five,” they whisper, and disappear out the door as quickly as they appeared.


End file.
